Lighthouse Brides Collection

by Andrea Boeshaar

  “Father?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  How could she ask him without sounding like a lovesick puppy? “Have you seen Mr. Duncan of late?”

  “Why, yes, ran into him in town the other day. He’s doing well.” He forked another stack of pancakes onto his plate. “Why do you ask?”

  “I was…concerned.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Perhaps you might look him up?” her mother suggested.

  “He’s moved. I don’t…” She held her words. She’d just exposed herself and her previous attempt to see him.

  “Richard, tell her,” Fiona’s mother encouraged.

  “Tell me? Tell me what? He’s all right, isn’t he?” A sudden fear that he might have suffered an injury at work crept across her face.

  Her father placed his hand upon hers. “He’s fine, child. Do you love him?”

  She couldn’t deny it any longer. He’d been in her thoughts day and night since the hurricane. The summer had passed with no further storms. Autumn leaves now colored the island with streaks of gold, orange, and red. The entire summer she’d argued with her thoughts and emotions and fought with God about her call. Ian had been right. It was her father’s call, not her own. But she found herself adrift, not knowing who or what she should be or do.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Then I suggest you find him and tell him how you feel,” her father said, dabbing his mouth with his napkin.

  “Do you know where he is?” Fiona asked.

  “Working, I presume. But what you need to speak with Ian about would be better suited to a private conversation.”

  Mother’s chair scuffed the floor as she got up and went beside her daughter. “Richard, give Ian an invitation for lunch.”

  Lunch—four more hours. They would be the longest four hours of her life.

  Her father tossed his napkin down and rose from the table. “I think that is a grand idea, Mother.” With that, he silently left the room, the screen door springing back and clapping the doorjamb behind him.

  “Are you ready to talk about it?” Mother asked.

  “I’ve prayed, Mother, all summer. I’m more confused than when Ian left. I do know that God wasn’t calling me to be a lighthouse keeper, but I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. I love Ian. But is that enough? I just don’t know.”

  “Come, sit on the sofa with me, dear.” Her mother walked over to the sofa and waited patiently for Fiona to join her.

  “Growing up on the farm, I always felt I would eventually marry a farmer, have a few children, watch them grow and marry, then be a grandmother one day. I’d either live on a neighboring farm or on the same farmstead as my parents and my father’s parents before them. That is, until I met your father.” Her mother’s eyes twinkled with excitement.

  “Your father, bless his heart, had no patience with the land. He yearned for the sea. And once he had visited the ocean, he knew that was the place for him. For years people made sport of his convictions. He didn’t know exactly what he would do on the sea, but he knew it would be something.

  “He was a striking young man—all the girls thought so at the time—but they all stayed away because of his crazy talk about working on the sea.

  “Now, mind you, I didn’t understand it either, but there was something about him, about his deep convictions, that drew me to him.” Mary placed her hands on her lap. “I suppose you, being raised in our home and being our only daughter and thoroughly loving your father, caught that same excitement and desire to be on the sea.”

  “I always thought it was a higher call to do the work of a lighthouse keeper. The hours are so demanding, and many people’s lives depend upon what you do.”

  “Certainly it is a high calling and holds a great responsibility, but it isn’t your father’s highest calling in life.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Fiona, dear, your father loves his work; he’s committed to it. But before his job are his children, and before his children is me. But even I take second place in his life, as he does in mine. The Lord and what He desires of us stands above all the rest.”

  “I’ve had it backward, haven’t I?”

  “Yes, dear. The job is a good one, and a noble one, but should always be after your relationship with the Lord. You’ve wanted your own way, and perhaps, being the baby and the only girl in the family, we’ve given into you a time or two when we shouldn’t have. You do tend to have a stubborn streak.” Mother winked.

  Fiona chuckled.

  “I’m glad you’ve at least sorted out your affections for Ian Duncan. Now, perhaps the two of you can explore whether the Lord wishes you to get together.”

  “Ian says He does.”

  Mary chuckled. “Maybe so, but I think that is something a man and a woman need to discuss and pray together about before one decides for the both of you.”

  Ian worked hard all morning. Richard’s revelation that Fiona wished to see him made his spirit soar and his mind take flight. He’d missed more nails and pegs than a twelve-year-old apprentice on his first day. The noon hour couldn’t come fast enough. When he mentioned to his boss he might be away for awhile during lunch, the man gave Ian the rest of the day off, claiming it cost him more money having him work.

  Ian hadn’t shared with him why he couldn’t keep his mind on his work. Relishing the release from his employer’s tasks, he headed back home, figuring he had a little time to do some painting on the place. He prayed Fiona would like the house. He’d given Richard a progress report a few days ago in town. Although nearly completed, he’d done little work in the past couple days. Richard had also informed Ian that Fiona never spoke of him. He also spoke of his growing concern over her daily wanderings from the house.

  The sun shone brightly on the new house. The interior still needed finish work, but the exterior was completed. On more than one occasion, several of the pilots and fishermen who lived in Pilot Town and some of the men he worked with had come to lend a hand. When he first purchased the land, they helped him clear it in a day. Digging the foundation alone had put a few more muscles on his back. They returned to help raise the roof, and a few continued to come every once in awhile when they had nothing better to do.

  All in all, Ian was pleased with the small, two-bedroom home. And he had the plans for building additions as their family grew.

  He placed the paintbrush he’d been working with in the bucket and stood back from the front door. He’d painted it the same shade of blue as her eyes. He glanced up at the sky and the placement of the sun. He had just enough time to clean up and meet Fiona. “Oh, Lord, help me be a patient man. Don’t let me overwhelm her as I did before,” he prayed.

  He washed the brush, himself as well, and put on some fresh clothes. He’d even considered wearing his kilt but decided against it. While custom dictated traditional clothing when a man went calling on a woman in Scotland, it hardly seemed appropriate on Ocracoke.

  His heart raced as he approached the small brick house. He reached up and gently rapped on the door.

  “Ian, I’m so glad you could come.” Mary smiled and let him in.

  Admittedly, he’d hoped Fiona would have greeted him. Mary closed the door, and he proceeded into the family living area.

  His heart lurched in his chest. Fiona stood in the center of the room, her hair more golden, her blue eyes sparkling as brightly as the ocean in summer. “Fiona, me love, ye’re beautiful.”

  A gentle blush rose on her cheeks.

  “Hello, Ian. I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed ye, too.” His tongue barely obeyed his thoughts.

  “Come, sit on the sofa for a moment.” Fiona pointed to the far side of the room.

  He reached out his hand and led her there. She sat down with the grace of a dove landing on a small bush. He sat beside her, afraid his legs would give out. How did her very presence drain him of his strength?

  He caressed her fingers with his thumb, not having let go si
nce escorting her over to the sofa.

  “Ian, I’ve done what you asked, and I’ve prayed about my call.”

  Ian swallowed hard. Perhaps she’d still decided to remain as a lighthouse keeper.

  “And you were right. I wasn’t called to be a lighthouse keeper. It is my father’s calling.”

  Ian could feel his grin widen.

  “But…”

  His grin slipped.

  “My mother made me realize just this morning that I was putting the call, or rather my interpretation of the call, before God. I put so much emphasis on it I forgot about the One who called me.”

  Ian nodded. He understood putting God to the side and the need to put Him back in the center of his life. He’d done the same on more than one occasion.

  “I guess what I’m saying is, I need to get right with the Lord before we can pursue a relationship.”

  His heart sank deep into his gut. He closed his eyes and held back the bile that rose in his stomach.

  “Aye lass, I understand yer need to put God in His proper place. But…” Ian didn’t think he could wait another three months or longer before she would consider a relationship with him.

  “I’m sorry I’ve hurt you. I didn’t mean to. I’m not saying this right.”

  “No, ye be sayin’ it just fine. I do understand, an’ I’d be lyin’ if I said I wasna hopin’ for more. I cana imagine not seein’ ye again for so long.”

  “Oh, Ian. I want to see you. I need to see you. I’ve missed you terribly. I just know I need to put God first.”

  “Aye, me love. I think I can help ye with that.”

  “You can?”

  “Aye, I believe I can.” Ian reached out and touched her silky golden hair. Her eyes rapidly searched his own. “Yer hair is a wonder to me fingers. ’Tis silky an’ sweet an’ crowns ye with golden splendor. But as much as I love ye—an’ Fiona, I do love ye—I don’t have the patience to count each an’ every strand upon your head.”

  “Of course not. No one can.”

  “Exactly. But our Father in heaven says He knows the exact number of hairs upon our heads. I could never love ye like He loves ye, cares for ye, an’ will always be there for ye. I can promise to love ye the rest of me days, but I could never be there at every moment. Our heavenly Father can.”

  “I understand. But what does that have to do with me not putting Him first in my life?”

  “I’m gettin’ to that.” Ian chuckled. “I trust ye repented when ye realized this was somethin’ ye’d done?”

  Fiona nodded.

  “Then He is first in your life.”

  “But—”

  “Me love, if the Lord has brought us together, He’ll show ye. We can begin to spend time together, pray together, an’ see if I be the one for ye.”

  He made sense. Maybe she didn’t need to do this on her own. “I’d like that.”

  Ian flashed his wonderful smile once again. His hand had never left hers, and yet he held it with such tenderness and strength.

  “So would I, lass.” He winked. He looked behind them and then back to her. “Where are yer parents?”

  “I don’t know. But they can’t be far.” She truly hadn’t seen them leave, but they were gone, perhaps sitting on the front steps, waiting for them to finish their private conversation.

  “Ian, I’ve missed you. Where have you been?” she asked.

  He grinned. “I bought some land an’ am buildin’ a house.”

  Their house? He had said he planned to do that months ago. Would he build it not knowing if she’d ever come around?

  “Aye lass, ’tis me gift to me bride.”

  His bride! Her pulse raced with anticipation, but she still needed to discover who she was before she…

  He interrupted her thoughts. “All in good time, me love. For now, let’s get to know one another an’ fill our bellies with that delicious fish chowder I smell.”

  The door creaked open, and her parents entered the room. “Can you return for dinner?” Fiona asked as he ushered her to the table.

  “Aye, an’ I can stay the afternoon. Me boss gave me the day off. He said somethin’ about me mind not bein’ on me work today. I canna imagine why, can ye?” He winked.

  Fiona giggled.

  Her mother interrupted. “Are you hungry, Ian?”

  “Starvin’.” His gaze lingered on Fiona, and she could feel the blush deepen on her cheeks.

  Father cleared his throat. Ian’s eyes traveled back to him. “Let’s pray.”

  Chapter 8

  Fiona didn’t know when she’d spent a more pleasant afternoon. She and Ian talked about everything from lighthouses, to ships, to houses, to Highland, and the Lord. The strength of Ian’s faith captivated her, and he gave her practical ideas of how to keep God first in her life. He’d confessed times in his past when he’d put something or someone ahead of God and how he’d always find himself in trouble. He had a way of showing her things that made sense.

  That night, the house stood quiet as she lay on her bed, continuously replaying the conversations of the day. Her musings drifted off into the warmth of Ian’s arms wrapped around her and his tender kiss upon her forehead.

  With eager anticipation, she waited for Ian’s return visit each day. The evenings they would spend together, talking, laughing, until Fiona realized her love for Ian had removed the doubt and confusion of the past three months. He had been right about her not being a lighthouse keeper. But could he be right about their being made for one another? She hoped so.

  He had told her the general location of his land. Fiona trekked through the dew-laden grass, making her way to his home. She tapped the basket filled with fresh rolls and sweet jams she and her mother had made during the summer, her mind focused on other things.

  Is it possible to love a man too much and lose sight of You, Lord? she prayed, hoping her love for Ian was God-breathed.

  A small wooden house came into view. The bright blue door and trim made it stand out against the cleared land and cords of wood. Her heart beat faster. Ian had made this house with his own hands. Taking in a deep breath, she marched to the front door and knocked.

  His heavy, approaching footfalls made her smile. Ian opened the door. “Fiona? What brings ye here?”

  “You.” She winked.

  “Aye, me love, I’ve longed for ye to come to our home.” He fanned his arm back. “Come in.”

  “I…” Was it wrong to enter a man’s home? She thought she remembered hearing that somewhere. “I want to see the house, but…”

  “Ah lass, ye’re afraid of what others might say.”

  Fiona nodded her head.

  “Do yer parents know ye’ve come?”

  Fiona felt her cheeks heat. “No,” she confessed.

  “Then I’ll come out an’ sit on the front steps with ye.”

  “I’ve brought a small breakfast of some rolls and jams I’ve made.”

  Ian smiled. “Ye’ve made? For me?”

  “Oh, Ian, I’m terribly afraid I’ve fallen too much in love with you. I think of you all the time and…” Fiona’s hands trembled.

  “Fallin’ in love with me isna a bad thing.” He took her hands into his own.

  “But I need to put God first.”

  “Ahh. Tell me why ye think yer love for me is greater than yer love for our heavenly Father?”

  Fiona explained that even while reading the Scriptures and praying thoughts of Ian came flooding into her mind.

  “So, ye be thinkin’ ’tis best for us not to see each other as often?”

  Fiona nodded.

  Ian released her hands and clasped his own, putting his elbows to his knees and leaning forward slightly.

  “Fiona, when ye take care of the lighthouse all night, do ye have to stay alert an’ constantly replenish the oil reservoirs?”

  “Of course; you know that.”

  Ian grinned and took her hands again. “Well, that’s the way ’tis with our relationship with God. We constantl
y need to pray an’ read the Word. If we don’t, we burn out.”

  “I know, Ian, and I have been praying, but you keep interrupting my prayers.”

  Ian chuckled. “An’ ye think ye don’t interrupt mine?”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely, Love. But the same is true with us. To keep the flame of love burnin’, ye need to tend it.”

  “How can I do both—keep the Lord’s light burning and tend to our love?”

  “By givin’ our love over to God an’ praisin’ Him for the gift of it.” He pushed back her hair. “Every time a thought or image of ye flashes before me mind, I praise God for ye. I ask Him to protect ye and keep ye safe. An’ whatever else pops into me head.”

  “And God doesn’t mind your interrupting your time with Him?”

  “Of course not, Darlin’, because I’m thankin’ Him an’ givin’ Him credit for ye an’ the gift of our love.”

  “Oh, Ian, I want what you say to be true.”

  “Trust me, Fiona.”

  Her hands trembled under his. He pulled her into his arms and wrapped them protectively around her.

  Ian held on to Fiona with all his devotion. He couldn’t imagine life without her. He couldn’t lose her—not again. The summer had been horrible. If it hadn’t been for the goal of building this house, he never would have made it and would have broken his vow to wait on her.

  “Marry me, Fiona. Help me tend the light of our love an’ fill this house with our children.”

  “Oh, Ian, yes.” She reached up and caressed his face. Warmth, love, and fear mingled on her fingertips as they trailed his jaw and seared his lips. “Kiss me, Ian,” she whispered.

  “With pleasure, me love.” Her tender lips, smooth as velvet, completed the noose around his heart. From the very moment he’d seen her, he’d fallen in love. And in a year’s time she’d worked her magic, igniting love in his heart for her like no other. There’d be storms ahead, he chuckled to himself. Two strong-willed people were bound to have a blow or two. If they were ever-watchful, they could tend the light of their love for each other and their Creator, and be the stronger for it.